


Saving All Your Feelings for a Saturday Night

by midnightsnackclub



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Multi, Past Kent "Parse" Parson/Jack Zimmermann
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:35:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25741432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightsnackclub/pseuds/midnightsnackclub
Summary: Sundance Film Festival takes place in Utah every late January through early February as the largest independent film festival in the US. The local NHL team, the Utah Grizzles, play at least 5 games during this time. One of those is against their neighboring rival, the Las Vegas Aces. Kent, Eric, and Jack meet in the middle, somehow.
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann, Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Kent "Parse" Parson/Jack Zimmermann
Comments: 5
Kudos: 22
Collections: Check Please Heartbreak Fest 2020





	Saving All Your Feelings for a Saturday Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thatsclassicsbaby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsclassicsbaby/gifts).



> Took a lot of liberties by setting it in the city I know best, making the local ECHL team NHL so I could set it there, and making Bitty a film kid. 
> 
> Title from Anything Could Happen by The Academic. Shout out to my amazing boyf, Matt, for betaing this. You can find my on tumblr @ midnightsnackclub as well!
> 
> Hope you like it!!! <3

Kent spots Eric first. Then he meets Jack. 

_X_ _X_ _X_ _X_ _X_

In the midst of the pounding music, the press of bodies from every direction, and being nearly five rum and cokes deep, focusing on anything was nearly impossible. But dammit if his eyes didn’t land on the tiny blond at the bar instantly. Glass in hand, he excused himself from the three or so teammates that had dragged him along in celebration after their game ( 5 - 2 against the Utah Grizzlies ). And with the ten or so steps he had till he reached the other, Kent desperately tried to come up with the sort of opener that didn’t make him sound like a complete asshole. 

“Hey. Can I buy you a drink?” He hums, already waving down the bartender.

“Oh. Well. Depends.” The blond gets out. God, his accent was just as kind as it was sweet. And he was even shorter up close, eyes shining in the twinkle lights from the kitchen. Hair tousled casually and tucked into an oversized wool sweater, he radiated softness. 

But the long beat between the question and the answer had Kent biting his tongue under his back molars. “Doesn’t have to mean anything. Just. A drink.”

“Right. Bellini. Please.” The nod is a little stiff, but Kent takes it. Leaning against the counter he tries to keep some distance between them. But his eyes keep lingering, searching over and over the other’s face.

“You’re just... pretty so. Why not? Pretty people could use a drink too.” Kent offers, bringing his own glass to his lips as if personally confirming the statement. That gets a giggle from the other and Kent can’t help but to revel in it. “Kent, by the way. Parson. I’m actually here for… a hockey game.”

“Eric Bittle. I’m here for Sundance.” The other, Eric, answers. 

“Oh shit. That’s that… film thing. With all the celebrities?”

Eric’s drink is finally set down before him as he gives his own nod, fingers toying gently with the stem of the glass “Festival, yes. I’m a director actually.” 

“Yeah, anything I would know?” 

“Not unless you follow the indie circuit.” 

Kent can’t help but to scoff a little, balancing his tumbler on one edge as he leans on the bar, “Do I look like the kind of person that would be into indie films?” 

Eric hums slowly, finally taking his time to give Kent a once over. The taller blond basks in it, shifting just a little so the other can get a real eyeful of his freshly pressed button up and ridiculously expensive jeans. “Well… I don’t know. Anyone can like indie films.”

“I don’t think I’m smart enough for them.” Kent laughs, downing the rest of his drink.

Eric paused to wrinkle his nose at that, looking up to shake his head at Kent, “You know… People get so intimidated by art forms they’re not used to because they think they’ll interpret them wrong. There’s no wrong way to interpret art. Long as you can support it.”

Trying to continue his laugh a little, Kent slowly leans forward, tipping his head, “What do you mean?” 

“Well…” Bitty starts, straightening his shoulders. “No two people will ever have the same life experience. We all come from different places, have different families, different friends. We all grow up different, learn different things, like different things. But millions of people can like the same film. How’s that possible?” He pauses, as if for an answer, to which Kent gives a shrug. “Because we all connect to art in our own ways. I mean, there are general rules: blue is sad, red is passion, yellow is happiness, wide shots are isolating, close shots are claustrophobic, long shots make us feel awkward. And I think. Indie films get this awful wrap, because people who can watch it and really articulate why these films work the way they do look down upon people who can’t, or even don’t want to. But when you both watch a film, you’re still feeling something. And I think it's become this intellectual competition of trying to dissect every piece of footage you see, the soundscape, every camera angle. And that’s not the viewer’s job. That's for people like me, who want to make films, and have to understand these rules. I mean, if you want to enter a discussion space you should be able to support your interpretations with on screen evidence or interviews with creators. But you, a viewer... your most important job is to watch… and feel it, you know?”

Keeping track of what Bitty was saying has to be one of the hardest things Kent had done all night. And he had gotten two goals and an assist just hours earlier. But the way Bitty’s face lit up when he talked had him completely drawn in. His spark was more than infectious. “Uh… sure.”

Bitty chuckles at that, finally returning both hands to his drink, “You’re just… one of the first people all week who hasn’t tried to explain my own work to me. So I appreciate it.”

That puts a genuine smile on Kent’s face as he leans on one elbow, nodding his head, “Well… you’re welcome then. Believe me my brain is… made for listening. I don’t think it fires fast enough to come up with original ideas.”

Bitty echoes his earlier laugh, louder now. Brighter. “You play hockey. Pretty sure you have to think on your feet for that.”

“Nah. Muscle memory.” He teases. Now only inches from Eric he carefully twirls his empty drink in his hand, reaching up to fix his cap. “Alright… alright alright well. To make this all even... let me explain hockey to you.”

“No, I know about hockey.” Eric hums, also finishing off his own drink proudly, before his eyes go wide. He swallows, though Kent misses it as his own jaw drops.

“... You know about hockey?” Kent asks, quickly shutting his mouth to save face.

Another, quieter laugh from Eric, “Yes, I know about hockey.”

“How much?”

“Uh. All of it?”

Kent raises his eyebrows at that, before settling back, more than a little impressed now. “So you’re just a man of many talents.”

Eric nods, eyes never moving away from his long empty glass as he murmurs, “My boyfriend… plays for the NHL.”

“... No shit.” Kent mumbles in return, standing up fully then to glance around the bar. 

“He’s in line for the bathroom.” Eric sits up with him, reaching out just a little, before pulling his hand back, “I know you would recognize him. He’s. A captain too. But… It's fine. You don’t have to run or anything if you think he’s going to. You know. Tell anyone. Obviously he wouldn’t. But. I figured I would give you fair warning.”

The bar’s dark enough that Kent can’t see all the way to the back, and with the room already swaying from the alcohol it wasn’t like he could pinpoint a face from the bar even if he knew who to look for. “Who’s he play for?”

The tiny blond bites the inside of his cheek, meeting Kent’s eyes, “Providence.”

Kent knows then. Can see his face, the way he smiles, and laughs. The curve of his neck and shoulders. His rough voice in the morning or late at night. The way he celebrated, the way he mourned. And though Kent had tried to shred the memories of the dark haired Canadian, his brain had instead seared them into every inch of his being. Every other song on the radio a reminder of their time together, a box at the back of his closet containing physical keepsakes that were too cherished to burn, and at least two games a year (if they didn’t also meet at All Stars or Playoffs) that dredged up those long suppressed recollections.

“Tell him I say hi,” Kent mumbles, pushing off from the bar as a rushing fills his ears. And though the sound of Eric filters through, Kent ignores it so he can push through the mass of people, and out the door into the freezing Salt Lake City night.

_X_ _X_ _X_ _X_ _X_

Kent played the Falconers in Providence a month later.

With playoffs fast approaching every point going forward mattered more than ever. And though the Aces and the Falcs were both very on track to clinch their spots, points were still points.

And the Aces lost by two.

Tossing off his pads, Kent left them in a pile on top of his duffel for the equipment managers to collect before storming out of the visitor locker room. Shoving on his cap, hands jammed in his pockets, Kent speed walks to the exit closest to their side of the arena. 

“... Kenny?”

Of fucking course.

Stilling in the quiet hallway Kent has to take three or four breaths before he’s ready to face Jack. “Hey Zimms.”

Jack’s dressed in a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, suit folded over one arm. His face is mostly unreadable. 

“You’re gonna leave wrinkles in that thing.” Kent offers, eyes on the folded fabric instead of meeting Jack’s for even a second. 

Jack let out a slow breath, maybe a chuckle, though that would be a generous label. And with the ten or so feet between them, he carefully steps forward until there’s only five. “So. You met Eric.” 

Another pause, Kent studies the faint lines hidden in the pattern of the suit jacket. “... Yeah. Apparently. I didn’t know though so it’s not like I was trying to purposefully fuck you over. I wouldn’t… do that.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” Jack says, so earnestly that it lulls Kent into a place where he’s brave enough to meet Jack’s eyes. Icy as ever. “We met in college. I took this… intro to photography class my senior year. And he was really good. One of the best in the class, his eye is incredible. So... I asked him on a date halfway through the semester. You know, he has that smile. And I didn’t really date before that but… we clicked. Like really clicked,” Jack chuckles, rubbing over the bicep above his suit with one hand before continuing. “And he just stuck around after that. And when I signed with the Falconers, they felt like home. Things were finally settling down for me, finally going right...”

Kent can feel the lump rising in his throat as Jack talks, shaking his head as he forces himself to speak. Though the tremor in his voice seems to give him away almost immediately, “I’m glad you found what you were looking for.”

Eyes soft, Jack tips his head to watch Kent’s face. The way he sets his jaw, hands in his pockets. It was incredible how Jack could read his tells after nearly 10 years apart. “What about you?”

Scoffing so hard he nearly chokes, Kent has to take a few seconds just to calm his breathing, “Obviously fucking amazing.”

“Kenny…”

“Don’t. Don’t fucking Kenny me, I’m not Kenny to you anymore.” He pulls his hands from his pockets so they can ball at his side, spinning on his heel to start stomping off, before he’s pulled back by a hand on his wrist.

“Will you calm down for two seconds?” Jack asks, letting go, though keeping just as close.

Kent huffs, but nods. Folding his arms over his chest he looks the taller man head on.

“Eric liked you. A lot. And I… I miss you. Okay?” A beat. Kent looks disbelievingly at the other so Jack continues, “The last time I heard from you. The night of… well, you know. You were still important to me. And I don’t know why you’ve convinced yourself that as soon as that happened you weren’t important to me. You ignored all my calls. And that hurt.” 

The hall seems to be spinning much like the bar had a month or so earlier. With Jack so close, everything he was saying, it echoed around his head louder and louder till it sounded like a swarm of bees. Forcing himself to close his eyes, Kent gets out. “I thought. It was me. That made you… so I got as far away from you as possible.”

Jack lets out a hurt noise then, eyes searching the floor, before returning to Kent. “I was sick. That’s not your fault.”

“I know. But I was a kid, I was the closest person to you. And I couldn’t stop it. I think even today. Even though I know I couldn’t have stopped it, that it was something internal for you, I still blame myself.” His voice catches, though he clears it quickly, fixing his cap to cover for it. 

Nodding his head, Jack slowly continues, “And I know it was years ago. But you’re still important to me, Kenny. And if you’re willing. I want you back in my life.” 

Kent can’t help to laugh wetly at that, shaking his head for a long moment, before smiling. “You sure you can handle me and Eric? You know… I can see why you like him. He’s got that passion like you.”

“And you.” Jack adds, nudging Kent’s elbow with his own. 

“You got a type.” Kent agrees, nudging him in return. 

It's Jack’s turn to laugh now as he steps forward to walk next to Kent, “You headed out this way?”

“Yeah. You?” Kent chuckles, speeding up to keep pace.

“Yeah, I could head this way too.”

_X_ _X_ _X_ _X_ _X_

Jack was right, of course.

Kent somehow fit perfectly in the middle. Though Bitty was sometimes in the middle, with Jack only in the middle on bad nights. 

After playoffs had ended (with the Red Wings winning the cup) Kent spent a lot of his time flying to Providence on the weekends. First came the dinners where they kept things polite and friendly. Getting to know each other and getting to know each other again. Kent enjoyed these nights, enjoyed helping Bitty cook and helping Jack set the table. Enjoyed the banter and the laughs, the way it was just so easy to open his heart to these people. 

And by their third dinner, with Kent standing at the sink washing up plates, Jack strolls up beside him to claim their first kiss. Well. Not their first. But first in a while. Cupping the back of Kent’s head, he very gently drags their lips together. And by the time Kent is opening his eyes again to see the taller brunet, the shorter blond that had suddenly appeared on his other side, and pulls him in for their first kiss. A real first kiss. 

Hands resting on the counter, they continue like this for a long while, Kent spinning his head back and forth between the two before he pulls back to breathe. “I like this.” He murmurs, earning a round of laughter from the other two.

“We like it too, honey.” Eric murmurs, petting his hair back.

Once the season started back up their weekends together became less frequent, instead replaced by long skype calls and short meetups whenever two of the three of them ended up in the same state between their travels. 

And it was easy. Surprisingly easy. Jack kept trying to convince him it was because he deserved to be happy. Though he didn’t believe it at first, every night he spent laying against Bitty’s side as they watched reality shows, chirping Zimms whenever they met on the ice, and pressed between the two in long hugs when they finally all got a second together could convince him.

Less and less Kent felt like the outsider, like a visitor in their relationship. And when Kent’s contract expires, when one of the best players in the league goes up for grabs, the Falconers are first to put in a bid for him. Kent moves into Jack and Bitty’s place that summer. And though the media goes crazy, it's nothing they can’t handle together. 

Settled in Providence the three of them continue to make it work. Between games and premieres and long nights watching rough cuts and tape, they still find time for each other. Like it was meant to be.


End file.
